Reflection

Being an ALT is a mysterious job. It exists more as a concept than an actual thing. The Japanese government thought that foreigners would be good "soft power" for Japan - they come, they find things to like about the country, and then they leave and go back to wherever they came from, spreading the word about how awesome Japan is.

But what can a foreigner do? Japanese is a difficult language. Few foreigners speak it.

BUT!

They can speak English, and English is a global language.

So what do we do with them, they ask?

The answer is stick 'em in a classroom and tell them to do English.

That's the JET program.

This man was hired to make weird foreign sounds at Japanese kids.

But the actual schools associated with the program are different. They have no idea what to do with this random foreigner that they're mandated to teach with. And the other, non-English teachers? Forget it - they REALLY don't know why you're there, what you do, or how to approach or interact with you.

An ALT mostly plays English games with their students.

An ALT also has very little training, orientation, or direction outside of that.

So that means you have people with little to no Japanese, no teaching experience, and no idea what they're really supposed to do outside of "play games." It's a real sink or swim, trial by fire situation for many ALTs.

For me, I had a little Japanese and a little teaching experience, so I was in a better position than some.

I still had absolutely no idea what I was doing when I came here.

Literally me.

Students didn't understand my directions. JTEs would refuse to translate my directions. Students would often stare blankly at me as I fruitlessly played charades trying to explain myself. I had no idea what the average Japanese student was capable of at my school. My activities were often too difficult or too simple or fell flat.

There's this thing Japanese students do that throws you off. You can ask them questions - even IN JAPANESE - and they will sit there, silently, staring at you blankly. Sometimes they know the answer and they don't want to speak. They can be intensely shy, or afraid of making a fool out of themselves for getting a wrong answer, God forbid. It's like they adapt to a "if I don't say anything, the teacher can't see me" mentality, and even regular Japanese teachers end up talking to a wall of mannequins, all in uniform.

Imagine being a foreigner speaking gibberish. Now imagine all those mannequins look scared and confused.

To tell the truth, I wanted to quit after a month. I felt like I wasn't helping, nobody knew why I was there, and like I wasn't welcome or appreciated.

You hear this a lot on the JET program. Everything outside of school is great - travelling, experiencing the country, going to parties and restaurants and making Japanese friends. But school is frustrating, weird, and often uncomfortable.

For a long time, this didn't change. No matter what I did, my lessons, when I was allowed to teach and not just recite vocabulary, felt awkward.

It was towards the end of my first year that things started to change. I found my rocks. My few JTEs who opened up to me, coming to me before class and planning activities with me and not just saying "come to class and do whatever today." I grew to know the students and what they were capable of. I acclimated to the atmosphere of the classroom and learned how to confront and overcome the Mannequin Wall. My Japanese got better, and I could respond to students' questions, even if in English.

It felt like swimming towards the surface after sinking for a very long time.

Yeah, I just went to stock photos on Google. What are you gonna do about it?

 I learned that the ALT can have value in the classroom. I also learned that this job requires initiative and constant adaptation. You need to put your foot down and ask teachers to plan with you. You need to make an effort to talk to students and show them you're a human and not just a scary, blabbering alien. And most of all, you need to leave your pride behind and let kids laugh at you and think you're weird.

I don't think the kids or the adults here will ever truly see me as 100% human. You start off as 100% alien and can become about 80% human, 20% alien if you try. But there's always that wall there, that wall of being different in a homogenous world.

Portrait of John-sensei done by student.

The point I'm trying to make is that you need to learn to work with that. This was especially difficult for me, who had an inflated sense of self-importance, I think. I have a teaching certificate. I've taught classes before. I went to grad school. Why am I doing charades and being laughed at, only for my co-workers to avoid me out of fear?

But leaving behind that pride is a good life experience, I think. I learned to laugh at myself for the benefit of my students. I learned to have fun trying to explain what a fire hydrant was through charades, pronouncing hose with a very, very strong OOOOOZZZZEEEE to make sure they didn't think I was telling them to connect a horse to the ground.

Eventually, most of them laugh with you instead of at you. You can get that 80% human real fast, leaving your pride behind.

It's definitely not all roses, and some problems persist. There are still co-workers here who wonder what I do. They see me sitting at my desk between classes and openly wonder about it. Sometimes they even pass me by and say I'm slacking off again, even while I'm working on an activity for class.

That would frustrate anyone. But I stayed a second year for my students.

Teaching here has been a fantastic experience for me, one that's helped me grow personally and professionally. I'll probably take it with me for the rest of my life.